


What Is It Like?

by Tyler_KB



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anger Outbursts, Angst, Borderline Personality Disorder, Bucky and Steves relationship can be platonic or romantic or just friends, Bucky has BPD, Disability, Dissociation, Gen, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Psychosis, mental disability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 03:10:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15476340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyler_KB/pseuds/Tyler_KB
Summary: "Hey Bucky, what is it like to have Borderline Personality Disorder?""What do you mean?""I mean...what does it feel like?""I guess it's almost like...like you were taught to kick your feet and move your arms...but then was thrown into the deep end of the pool with a very slippery ladder being your only way out."





	What Is It Like?

**Author's Note:**

> Something I wrote while in a funk, this is pretty much Bucky explaining to Steve what it's like to have Borderline Personality Disorder (since I headcanon that Bucky developed it during his time with HYDRA).
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> *Not edited, little too unmotivated at the moment and it's currently 5:00 am

It was a simple night. 

Steve and I had eaten dinner at five and both took our own showers before changing into our pajamas, each grabbing a different activity to do until we decided to go to sleep.

Steve was working on a new painting and I was writing on my laptop, something I found to pass time that I enjoy.

I don't know where the question came from.

"Hey Bucky, what is it like to have Borderline Personality Disorder?"

I blink, looking up from my screen to find Steve looking at me with a curious look in his eyes, "what do you mean?"

"I mean...what does it feel like?" He asks, putting down his paintbrush and sitting down on the stool, staring at me.

I know exactly how to word it, as I've been trying to find the perfect way to explain it since I was diagnosed a year ago. "I guess it's almost like...like you were taught to kick your feet and move your arms...but then was thrown into the deep end of the pool with a very slippery ladder being your only way out." I wait for Steve to say something, hopefully to end the conversation, but he stays silent, waiting for me to continue.

My mind is running through every possible outcome of telling Steve what it's really like.

He could laugh, tell me I'm being dramatic before going to bed without saying goodnight despite the fact we say goodnight to each other every night. He might be horrified, call me a monster and leave and I would never see him again. He might say nothing and continue to act like he actually likes me but in his mind be planning the easist way to tell me that he really hates me.

"It's like..." I take a deep breath, not making eye contact with Steve, "it's like every tone or voice change is screaming "I don't want you", every whisper is telling you that you are worth nothing, every minute without a reply is a secret message I'm alone again."

He still remains silent, and I don't have to look up to know he wants me to continue.

"Every day you have no idea what will happen and that scares you, you have no idea if something will set you off, no idea if this will finally be the day you hurt someone...no idea who it will be. Every day is a mystery but you need the timeline, if breakfast will be at this time or if I'll be yelled at by lunch, will I be so low I can't move or so overwhelmed with emotion I can't _stop_ moving?" Steve doesn't answer, he doesn't know either.

"It's the constant fear that today will be the last but also the overwhelming hope it is, it's wondering if today will break the no self-harm record and just want kind will it be? Cutting? Punching the wall? Slamming my head into the floor?" I smile just thinking about it, that actually doesn't sound that bad now that I think of it.

Steve isn't smiling when I look at him, in fact I can't place his current emotion.

_'Oh well, if he's gonna leave after this I might as well really make him want it.'_

"It's having that one person you just can't live without," I hear Steve make a small sound, "but every day you just want them to go away because you know that it won't last, but then you start talking to them and you're reminded just why it feels like you can't live without them."

"Your future plan changes so much and you're never sure just what you'll make of yourself. Will I write? Flip burgers? Be the president? You want to date but don't know how; you want to get married but don't know if you could handle the commitment. You're afriad of hurting people and only occasionally does that actually include you, other times you're so angry it's all you want."

"You go on every day knowing this is the rest of your life. You hear the stories of people being in and out of the psych hospital and wonder the next time it will be your turn to go back. You see the people that commit suicide and apart of you is jelaous it's not you, until you see their families and friends react with these tears and how nothing will be the same and feel so guily for thinking about dying which makes you just want it more."

I might be crying at this point, Steve might be crying at this point too, but I don't stop.

This has been sitting for so long I almost can't believe I'm just letting this all out now, of course I know once the high ends I'll remember exactly why I didn't.

"You want help but refuse to talk because your mind refuses to stop telling you that they'll hate you and once you tell them they're leave you alone. The voices are so loud and despite wanting them to go away they're the only ones to always be with you so you won't take your medication. They call you weak and stupid and say how everyone will leave you, push you down because deep inside they are just pretending to feel anything for you. They scream everything people are saying is a lie and that I shouldn't believe anyone but them, that in the end you'll just leave too. They tell you that nothing is worth it and I should just die but also to think about how sad people would be if I died and that I'm being selfish for even thinking about it."

"Your mind won't shut up and if it's not how everyone will leave you or how useless you are then it's the paranoia and anxiety. Someone is watching you, everything is too loud, and all you want to do is scream but you can't because then people will really watch you. They'll see who you really are and you refuse to let anyone know what's hiding, _whose hiding_."

"And the dislocation, my god the dislocation..." I choke on the words, not looking at Steve and instead focusing only on my hands and the keys on my laptop, "sometimes all I want is to wrap a scarf or something around my eyes so I don't have to deal with it, constantly feeling like nothing is real and you are just looking through a camera or some kind of first-person game. You can't explain it to anyone because no one understands and they call you crazy and dramatic because "it can't be that bad" but it's _so much worse_ than they can imagine..."

"You don't know how to keep friends and have no issues completely cutting someone off if it means you can leave them before they leave you first. They call you heartless and psycho, compare you to criminals and only see the disorder because when someone doesn't understand that's all they see. Criminals on tv are always labeled by their disorders, "man with anti-social personality disorder kills five" "narcissist robs bank" "depressed boy shoots up school"," I wipe my eyes, apparently I did start crying at some point, "man with "Borderline" personality murders 17..."

"You get angry and start ripping up pictures and if you're able to you burn them but once your anger fades you regret everything and the cycle starts back up again..."

I take a deep breath, "it's like being taught to kick and move your arms but you can't get into the pool until they toss you into the deep end and send you off, you're taught how to act in theory but when your mind and emotions don't work correctly...you can't swim peacefully. You struggle and go under because you can't move but no one helps because "everyone knows how to swim" so they think you are faking it when in truth water is constantly going down your throat and you can't breath most of the time...and sometimes you wonder why you don't just stop kicking and stop moving your arms and just drown because maybe then...maybe then they'll stay and help."

I finish, suddenly exhausted and ready to run away from Steve, from everything. I don't want to see his reaction, I don't want to hear him call me a monster or say that he wants me to finally die, I don't want to see him walk away because I really don't know what I'll do.

"Thank you."

It's said so sure, so confident, like it's honest and true.

But I don't understand.

I look at him, a soft look is on his face that I don't know if I've ever seen before. "Why?" 

He smiles, "because you trusted me enough to tell me, I know it was difficult, I saw it on your face as you spoke, how there was a constant battle in your mind because you didn't know if you wanted me to know." He stands, walking over and sitting down on the couch next to me. He gently places his hand on the couch next to my leg, palm up.

It's the action I use when I want to hold hands but don't want to verbally say it, a silent question of "do you want to?"

I place my hand in his, and he laces our fingers together, gripping tight.

"We're gonna be okay Buck," he says, and I frown.

"Promise?" I ask, and he shakes his head.

"Not every day will be okay. Some days will be absolute hell and I can promise that, but in the end? Yeah, in the end we'll be okay."

I smile softly, leaning my head on his shoulder and allowing us to sit in silence.

"Do you regret telling me?" He asks a few minutes later, and I nod.

"Yeah...but I know in the long run I won't...I know I won't regret it."

I can feel him smile, "that's all I needed to hear."

"Thank you Steve."

"Anytime Bucky."

 

 


End file.
